


Far Too Young To Die

by colderblue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Healer Draco, Horcruxes, M/M, Pansy has a secret lady love ;), Sick Harry, Squib Harry, each chapter will be at least 1k, ill up date tags as I solidify my outline, teddy is a monster 6 year old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10089518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colderblue/pseuds/colderblue
Summary: Harry Potter was never meant to have magic, and now the magic that was inside him was poisoning him, killing him.orVoldemort fucked up a perfectly good Baby and Draco Malfoy may be the only person who can help him.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter was dying. Doomed, vanishing, ebbing away into the hands of Death. His own magic was turning into poison running through his blood and nerves. 

Harry Potter was never supposed to have magic, and now that he had an abundance of it, it was destroying him from the inside out. For the past five years after the defeat of Voldemort, whenever he cast even the smallest charm, pain erupted from his core, leaving him shuddering and shivering, covered in sweat and sometimes his own blood or bile.

At his birth, James and Lily overjoyed to have been given the gift of a healthy, beautiful baby. They had dreams of him leaving for hogwarts, and become a great scholar or quidditch star. They’d imagined him a future of magic, as all wizarding parents wish for their children. 

At one year old, most magical children had shown already shown some accidental magic. Banishing lumpy peas held in front of their faces from the spoon, summoning a favorite blanket or toy, changing the color of their parent’s eyes or hair. Harry, James and Lily’s lovely little Harry, had shown none. They’d tried gently coaxing his magic to life, Sirius and James conjuring colorful sparks and bubbles for Harry to play with, and Remus and Lily studying the causes of wizards who were late bloomers. Peter brought over little cakes for his second birthday that his nan swore brought out the magic in stubborn babies. 

As the months progressed, Harry had no magic to speak for (though he could now say “ma,” “da,” and a crude repetition of “shite,” thanks to Sirius). The adults in his life knew that children could take years to even show potential of being magical (“Remember Alexander Markso? His first accidental magic was at age nine.” James recalled one night while rocking Harry to sleep.), but in the back of each of their minds, thoughts of squib, squib, squib echoed. 

They would all love him either way though, magical or not, and when Harry was 15 months old, they were robbed of the chance to ever discover which it would be.

When Voldemort attacked, and James lay dead near the couch and Lily next to his crib, no rush of magic swelled inside Harry, and no accidental magic jumped up to protect him. Voldemort's spell bounced off an ancient spell of Love, and the magic flying from the decaying creature once known as the Dark Lord Voldemort fled into the child. 

Harry Potter was a squib, but now he had magic churning through his body. Stolen magic, tainted, foreign magic, with malice that lay dormant for many years. Magic that defeated and killed it’s original creator.

When Harry Potter was twenty three, the magic began killing him as well.  
-  
The very first time, Ron had found him, walking out of his bedroom in their shared flat to find Harry convulsing on the floor after casting a simple heating charm on his tea. The healers at Saint Mungo's had tutted and warned of miscasting spells, claiming it was his own fault somehow. The second time, Hermione found him curled up and coughing up blood after trying to summon the tea bags from the kitchen cabinets. The healers dismissed him again. They’d dismissed him after Ginny found him out cold in the Burrow’s garden after de-gnoming, and after Neville saw him collapsing to the floor during a game of exploding snap. 

“Harry,” Hermione fretted, one leg bouncing on her knee well she sat. “You have to see someone. A specialist. Something is wrong.” Ron scoffed.

“Obviously something’s wrong, you don’t need a specialist to tell you that.” Ron said from his position lounging up against the couch on the floor. Hermione glared. 

“A specialist to help with a treatment, Ronald.” She hissed. “This is no joking matter! Harry’s ill, or he’s been cursed,” She bit her lip. “Now I know you won’t like this.” She paused. Harry shrugged from an armchair.

“Just say it.” He said. Hermione sighed slightly.

“Well, Luna’s at that healer’s school on the continent. In France you know? It’s one of the top in the world.” Harry and Ron both nodded. “Well, she was telling me about a student who graduated two years ago, top of the class, and apparently he’s moved back to Britain and started his own private practice specialising in people who have...issues… with their magic.”

“You think I should see him?” Harry questioned, thinking it over. If Luna recommended the bloke, he ought to be good.

“I really do Harry. If he’s as good as Luna says, his input and help could be invaluable.” Hermione said earnestly. “There’s just one issue.” She said and stopped. Ron looked up at her.

“Come on then, what's wrong with him?” He questioned. “It can’t be horrid if Luna says he’d be good.” Harry nodded along, but Hermione looked stricken. He leaned over a dropped his hand on the leg that was anxiously bouncing.

“Whats up with him Hermione?” He asked.

“Well, it's just he’s… His name is… It’s Draco Malfoy.” She said, and noting the stricken look on his face, she hurried on. “I’m sure we could find someone else, but I’ve looked into him, and Luna owled some people she’d known had gone to him, and he’s really, really, good at what he does Harry.”

Harry thought it over in his head. “So the man I’ll go to to fix my magic is Draco Malfoy,” he mused. He hadn’t seen much of any of the Malfoys since the war. Lucius would still be in Azkaban for seven more years, and Narcissa had gotten out last May, as she’d been given a reduced sentance after Harry testified at her trial that she’d saved his life. Draco had disappeared into the manor and then abroad, and no one had really heard from him since. He’d been in Medical School apparently. “How would I go about contacting him?” He asked, and Hermione beamed, reaching down into the bag at her feet and pulling out some loose pieces of parchment. 

“Luna gave me his address, just owl the office and you’ll hear back.” She said, handing him the parchment. Harry glanced at it and folded it, putting it into the pocket of his jeans. He stood up suddenly.

“Let’s stop talking about this,” He said. “Let’s go to dinner, my treat.” He got up, grabbing Ron’s had to pull him to his feet. Hermione got up and grabbed her bag, shuffling through it.

“Ron’s got a job, Harry, he can pay for himself.” She joked, “I, on the other hand, am in Uni, and you are more than welcome to pay for me. Ron spluttered in mock anger, grabbing Harry's arm. 

“C’mon mate, I’ll side-along you, since Hermione’s only thinking of herself.” Harry laughed, and then grimaced at the tight, squeezing sensation of apparating. 

His magic may be turning on him, but his friends had his back, so maybe he’d be ok.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco sat in his office. His last patient of the day had left half an hour earlier, and now he was completing the last of his paperwork and organizing his notes. This patient was interesting, a young witch from Germany who turned purple each time she coughed. It was probably a reaction to an incorrectly brewed potion, but the woman was convinced her magic was going mad. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, messing up carefully styled strands, and placed his papers in a satchel before walking out of the office.

In the waiting room, Blaise Zabini sat behind a desk, boredly levitating different quills and pieces of parchment. His mother was convinced she could not have a son who simply squandered the family’s money, and forced him to get a job. Of course, he’d gone to Draco with a pleading grin on his face and a taunt of “you owe me at least ten favors,” on his tongue. 

Blaise glanced up as Draco entered the waiting room. “You got a couple owls today,” he changed the direction the parchment was hovering so that they flew at Draco, whose seeker reflexes caught them before they could hit his face, “one came on the dorkiest little owl I’ve ever seen. Just minuscule.” Draco shuffled through the letters, glancing at the return addresses, before messy handwriting in dark ink on plain paper -what kind of wizard is the type of bloke to use lined paper instead of parchment anyhow?- caught his eye. He squinted at the hand writing.

That- that was probably and “H” and maybe a “Y,” later on a “P,” and some squiggles that looked vaguely like the letter “T.” He squinted harder, trying to decipher what could easily be confused for an ink stain, when his mind linked it together. 

Blaise was saying something to him in the background, something about the two of them meeting Pansy at some fancy Italian place for dinner tonight? Something about a new chick she was mooning over that she wants to tell the two of them about. Draco ignored it, standing stock still and hardly breathing as he realized who had written him, who had wanted -needed- his help.

“-I think she’s an athlete? Pansy won’t give me any details, saying it’s too early for any outside interference. Are you listening to me? Draco!” Blaise scolded, disgruntled. Draco glanced up, lips pursed. Blaise quirked an eyebrow, and glanced down to the paper in Draco’s hand. “What? Has the minister written to you? The muggle queen?” 

Draco found himself shaking his head, intrigue stirring in his mind. “No, no. Harry Potter apparently is having trouble with his magic.” He said. Blaise hummed.

“Oh. And he decided to come here?” Blaise shook his head slightly. “No offense, but he hates you.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Will you accept him as a client?” 

“Well I suppose it could be very interesting.” He nodded. “Yes, I think I will.” Blaise looked at him incredulously. 

“If you’re sure.” He commented, getting out from his position behind the desk. “I promised Pansy we’d meet her tonight, so come on.” 

 

Harry Potter sat anxiously in his flat. Ron and Hermione were out on “date-night,” and he’d sent an owl off to Malfoy, asking if he’d consider taking him on as a patient. Right about now, he wasn’t sure if he would feel more relieved with an acceptance or denial. He was watching the window and tapping his fingers impatiently against the arm of the chair, although he knew he probably would not be getting a response from Malfoy’s owl tonight. 

He’d borrowed Pigwidgeon to sent the letter, and since the tiny owl had returned claws empty, he assumed that either he’d been rejected immediately, or that they would be sending a different owl with a response. (“Harry, of course Malfoy’ll be sending an owl back. He’s a healer now and it will be terribly unprofessional if he never responds.” Hermione had chided when she saw him worrying over Pigwidgeon.)

He was heading into the kitchen for a mug of tea when he was distracted by a tapping on the window in the kitchen. A striking eagle owl sat sat impatiently on the ledge. Harry quickly opened the window and allowed the owl to fly into the kitchen, where in sat and held out its leg. Harry quickly untied the parchment and opened a bag of eagle treats, watching as the owl wolfed down two before fixing him a look with orange eyes and soaring out from the window.

Harry sat at the table with his tea, worrying his lip between his teeth before reaching out to grasp the parchment. He broke the seal, slytherin green he noted in a brief thought. 

Mr. Potter,   
You have been accepted as a patient by Healer Malfoy. At your earliest convenience during working hours (7am-4:30pm, Monday through Thursday), please firecall to schedule.  
-Blaise Zabini, Secretary Extraordinaire

The letter was curt, and to the point, with the Fire call address written at the bottom. Harry was a bit surprised to see Blaise Zabini as a secretary, last he heard he was busy living like a prince among his relatives in Italy. 

Harry left the letter on the table, and decided to treat himself to some trashy american-muggle television. He’d had a long day, and maybe the argument Kim and Khloe were currently in would distract him from the realization that he’d be face to face with a Malfoy soon enough. 

 

Draco had Blaise send the usual acceptance letter before they went out. As Pansy gushed over the new girl she’s found, and Blaise tried to desperately wriggle a name out of her, he’d stared into the swirling pool of red in his wineglass. He forced all thoughts of Potter out of his mind, no matter his curiosity about whatever was wrong with his magic, and focused on his friends. 

“Pansy, how many dates have you been on with this girl?” He said, grinning as she grew red.

“I haven’t- not yet. I’m trying to make her realize that she should want me.” She responded, putting her nose to the air and downing her firewhiskey. Blaise, tipsy although their entrees weren't even out yet, leaned across the table, grabbing her face in his hands.

“Pans. Pannnnnsy. Pansy. If you give me her name I can help you woo her. Please.” He begged, giggling. Pansy pushed him away with a laughing huff.

“The last time I let you help me we were almost arrested by muggle officers. Remember that Draco? You wouldn’t speak to us for a week!” She said, pointing her glass at him, a sly look coming over her face. “Besides, Blaise, Draco here seems to need more help than me. When’s the last time he looked so distracted? When he was chasing after the Greengrass girl? Or that Romanian boy?” Draco spluttered and sipped his wine, but Blaise’s mouth dropped. 

Blaise leaned back, draping an arm over Draco’s shoulders and looking deeply into his eyes. “It’s not me, is it.” Draco choked on his wine and shook his head.

“No! I’m not distracted at all!” 

Blaise continued, uncaring of Draco’s outburst. “The only other things that have happened today are you seeing a couple patients, so no.” He paused a second. “But you did get a new one today.” Pansy leaned in interested. “Potter! He’s like this because of Pott-” Draco’s hand slapped over Blaise’s mouth, forcing him to shut up.

“Oh Merlin.” Pansy said, eyes lighting up. “He’s right, isn't he?” She cackled. “This is excellent!”

“Shut up.” Draco muttered. He turned to Blaise, “and for that outburst, you’re buying us another round.” Blaise smiled widely.

“WAITER! MY BEST FRIENDS ARE IN LOVE AND WE NEED MORE BOOZE!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok!! Cool!! $10 if you can guess who Pansy likes


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoo hoo doctorss appointment (lmao this is so late)

“Mrs. Wersby, I can assure you, these potions will not have an unintended bad effect on your charm casting skills.” Draco told the elderly witch. She was having difficulty casting these days, and had come to him for treatment. The women pursed her lips for a moment. 

“Well, if you’re sure Healer Malfoy.” She responded, taking the bottles and leaving. Distantly, Draco could hear Blaise taking care of her bill, and setting up a date for a check up. He reached for his chart, glancing down at his next patient before absentmindedly drawing a black inc line through Mrs. Wersby’s name. 

Potter. His next patient was Potter, set to begin in around ten minutes. He hadn't forgotten that his school rival had scheduled his appointment for today, but it must have slipped his mind. He glanced at his warped reflection in the glass bottle of a pepper-up potion, and smoothed his hair slightly. He adjusted his robes, straightening them. 

And then he realized what he was doing. His hand froze as it pushed back platinum blond strands. He had no reason to impress Potter, and no matter how good looking Potter was, nothing would ever come out of it, so why bother? He shook his head slightly, missing his hair up a bit, and called out to Blaise. “Send Potter in whenever he gets here!” 

Blaise shouted back immediately, “He’s been here for five minutes already!”” Draco groaned slightly, there goes professionalism. He reached into the cupboard opposite the table that patients sat in and grabbed a new chart and quill, the parchment printed various questions he required all of his patients to answer as Potter walked in the doorway. He stood there for a minute, as if unsure what to do. Draco rolled his eyes, the savior of the wizarding world, shy? Hah. 

“Hey Malf- Healer Malfoy.”

“Hello. Take a seat then,” He said, motioning towards the table. “I have some basic new patient questions that I need answered before we can start.” Potter sat and nodded slightly, biting his lip. He was quiet, and it was odd for Draco to experience, the majority of his interactions with Potter involved some form of yelling. “Do you eat your vegetables, Potter?” He questioned, beginning the list.

“Do I-What? Don’t you specialist in magic.” Potter said, put off and perplexed by the question. Draco rolled his eyes. He had a feeling that he would be repeating the action multiple times as long as Potter was his patient.

“I said basic questions. They need to be done before we can move on to the issue at hand. So, do you eat enough vegetables?” Draco said. Potter tinged slightly pink.

“Er, yeah, I’ve got a balanced diet and exercise and all that. I'm healthy. Physically.” Potter responded. Draco noted the emphasis on ‘Physically” in the margin of his paper. The rest of the questions continued in much of the same manner, with several bumps in the road.

Apparently Potter had no knowledge of his family’s medical history, and didn’t know what the prescription for his glasses was. He’d been using the same ones since school, only resizing and reparo-ing them when necessary. Then they’d gotten to the sections on his reproductive health.

Potter had no children (obviously, else he would have heard about it in The Daily Prophet), and his slight pink tinge had grown to bright red when asked about if he was sexually active.

“I don’t see how that is relevant.” Potter had mumbled, leading to yet another eye roll from Draco. 

“I’m your healer, Potter. Just answer the bloody question.” Draco said.

“Er, no, not really sexually active..” Potter responded. Draco let out a hum.

“Not even that Weasley chick? I thought you were together at school.” He said, and immediately regretted it. Professional, he had to act professional. 

“Ginny’s busy with Quidditch. She’s the seeker of the Harpies now. And well, not really into blokes.” Potter responded. Draco made a note of that in the margins too, Blaise and him had started a list of possible athletes that Pansy had been talking about, and although he really, really, hoped it wasn’t a freckled red-head, she was going on the list.

“That’s all of the preliminary questions.” Draco said. “Now, please tell me what's so wrong with your magic that you had to seek my help.” 

“It started when Voldemort died.” Draco flinched at the name, his inner arm stinging with a phantom pain over his mark. Potter’s eyes hardened slightly at the flinch, mouth drawing into thin line, and Draco was sure that it was because he must be remembering how much he hated him. “At first it was just small things, spells not working at first, and then it progressed to them not working correctly. Reparo broke things, aguamenti shot fire. And then...Then it started to hurt. Little spells stung, and bigger ones made me bleed. I started collapsing, now I can’t do anything without passing out, at the least.”

Draco scribbled his quill across the paper, making sure to record every detail. This was odd, to say the least. He’d never heard of anything like this, much less encountered it. “Can I have a look? Just a small spell, Lumos or something. Hesitantly, Potter raised his wand and whispered the spell, which blinked out almost the second it began to light. Potter’s nose started bleeding, and he groaned, clutching his head.

“Just a headache.” He muttered. Draco quickly cast a spell to stop the bleeding, to Potter’s murmured “Thanks.” 

“I’m a Healer Potter. It's what I do.” He responded. Potter cracked a smile at that. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t know what this is.” Potter’s face fell, and Draco’s stomach twisted at the sight.

Not the Blaise was right. He didn’t like Potter. He just didn't like disappointing patients. “I’m going to do some research though, and we’ll figure it out. I need you to keep a diary of magic you use. When, how it affected you, if it worked at all.” He said. “I need more information.

Potter nodded. “Alright, thanks.” He got off the table and reached out a hand. Draco stared at it a moment. “C’mon Malfoy, we’re not in school anymore, you can shake my hand.” Draco stared at it a moment longer.

He took the hand and shook it. Potter was right. They really weren’t in school anymore.

 

Harry collapsed on his couch after coming through the floo. The fucking Healer who his friends swore would be able to help had no idea what was going on. He doubted anyone did. Just another perk of being Harry Potter. 

He glanced at his clock. It didn’t tell time, but was similar to the Weasley clock. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny name’s pointed to Work, and Teddy’s pointed to Andromeda’s. His own was stuck halfway between Ill and Mortal Peril.

Excellent.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys im back and schools out!!  
> Also this is probs full of mistakes I dont edit

Draco sat in his study at the manor. Just off of the library, the closeness of the massive amounts of text provided him the perfect environment for researching and planning treatment plans. He had at least a dozen books stacked on his desk, and several more open on the floor. He was pacing in front of his fireplace.

Potters case was just so odd. Magic turning its wizard? Unheard of. Magic was not a parasitic creature, nor an outside influence on a wizard. It was created by each individual wizard or witch, perfectly tailored and personalized. There were simply no recorded cases of magic acting the way it did with Potter. 

Of course he’d looked back several hundred years, scouring previous healer’s records of their patients. Magic could become uncontrollable, of course, and a person could develop as an obscure if it was repressed, both possibilities causing harm to the person. But Potter had held control over the lumos, and had learned to harness his magic, so they were out of the question. 

He huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. He’d owned several of his professors and colleagues, but no one had had any usable information or advice. 

In fact, the only thing remotely familiar to Potter’s case was an old Germanic tale about a muggle stealing magic, and rotting from the inside out. However, the transfer of magic was impossible. If it was at all possible, squibs wouldn’t exist. 

He’d hoped Potter was actually tracking his magic (if he used it at all). More data would help. Continuing on the thought of further research, Draco decided he’d switch the focus of his investigation into illness to curses. Potter’d fought against a Dark Lord and his followers, it was fairly likely a slow acting curse had hit him. 

 

He returned to library and pulled several dark magic books from their shelves. Thankfully, they’d survived the post war searches of former Death Eater homes, disguised as “Modern Charms for the Modern Witch,” and several volumes of “Alton Brown: Everyday Cook.” He didn’t completely understand his parents obsession with the man.

Apparently Brown was an American Wizard who ran a brutal and cutthroat muggle cooking show whom his mother had discovered when visiting her sister after the war had ended. Apparently his little cousin, Teddy (and what was his name? Edward? Theodore?) Lupin loved and insisted that they watch it during tea. His mother grew fond of the show, and had purchased a “TeeVee,” in order to watch the show. (Draco himself had grown fond of The Kardashians, a family of American witches portraying themselves as muggles for entertainment).

Draco tore his eyes away from the cover of the cookbook, and through off all thoughts of “TeeVee.” He was stressed about this case, and becoming distracted easily.

The dark books provided several curses for hurting magic. Most seemed to take months or years in planning, and intricate, delicate, and long lasting chants in order to effect, and ruled those out. Several other curses appeared similar to Potter’s condition, but he lacked the other side effects (Donkey ears, a red skin tone, only speaking in mermish to name a few). He cradled his head in his arms groaning, and opened another book randomly.

“HORCRUXES” The title of the page claimed boldly. The word stirred recognition within Draco, rumors about Voldemort and immortality coming to the forefront of his mind. The gossip was that Potter and his little gang of Gryffindors had destroyed some in order to kill the dark lord. He skimmed the page wearily, when his eyes caught something. 

The page detailed how a horcrux was a person's soul and magic cut apart and dispersed into hosts. The person would then continue to live for as long as the horcruxes were present. The magic being placed into a host reverberated with Draco, with the tale of the magic-stealing muggle. 

He jotted the idea down on a stray piece of parchment, and thought for a moment before sending Potter and owl asking if he’d been checked for curses, and if Draco could have a record of that, please. As the bird pulled away he scoured for more information about horcruxes, the thought sticking in his brain.

 

Harry stood across from Bill, who was running a series of spells over him. As a curse breaker, Harry assumed that he’d be a good bet for checking if he was cursed. Harry felt the waves of magic wash over him like a warm breeze. It was peculiar, he thought, how other people's magic could feel so comforting while his own felt like he was being killed.   
Bill completed the spells and shook his head. “You’re clean. Except for an untying jinx on your shoelaces, but that fresh, so it's probably just Ron or something.” He scribbled something on a piece of parchment, “Here, give this to your healer.” 

Harry nodded, “Alright, thanks Bill.” 

“Oh, by the way, Mum wants to know if you’ll be there for dinner on Sunday.”

“I wouldn’t miss Molly’s cooking for anything.” Harry responded with a smile, “Accio jacket!” He said of habit, and his eyes widened as his lips formed the word, vision clouding and beginning to fall. Bill reached out for him, catching him just before he fell.

“Harry, shit. Just stay there I’ll call Saint Mungo’s. Harry nodded, curling on the ground as he shivered in pain. His mouth tasted like blood. He could see Bill chuck some floo powder in the fire and yell into it. A moment later, several medi-wizards walked out. 

A leviosa was cast upon him, and Harry blacked out as he rose into the air.

 

Draco was scribbling notes on Parchment when a house elf popped in. She wrung her hands worriedly, and told him that Blaise was waiting in the front hall. 

“Yes..?” Draco said as he strolled in, taking note of the serious expression on his friends face.

“It’s Potter.” Blaise said. “He’s in the hospital. They owled the office because you’re considered the primary healer about his issue.” Draco summoned his coat and slipped on as he strode to the door.

“Let’s go.” Draco said.

“Do I have to go?” Asked Blaise. “I'm just your secretary.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, this is late and full of spelling mistakes
> 
> Also i love blaise and teddy

Draco paced outside of Harry’s room in the hospital. He hadn’t woke up since casting a spell several hours ago. Bill Weasley, the only witness, said it had been a simple “accio,” that had caused the fainting. Weasley was also a cursebreaker, and had apparently been running the tests that he had request just moments before Harry had tried casting a spell. 

A loud slurp forced Draco out of his musings. “Mate, they’ve got iced coffee right down the street. It’s a little muggle cafe but their brew is amazing.” Blaise said, dropping onto a bench against the hospital’s wall. “Do you want me to get you a cup?”

Draco rubbed his temples and sighed. “We are here on the job. Can you please act profesional, just this one time?” He asked. Blaise pouted, and took another sip. Draco turned away from him, mentally noting that Blaise’s paycheck was too much, and to dock it. Not enough that Blaise would care, but enough that Draco would feel slightly vindicated. He glanced through the observation window into Potter’s room. Spells shimmered on the glass, listing his vitals. Everything appeared normal if low with a slight fever, but his magic levels were strikingly high. Draco didn’t think anyone he’d worked with had seen a level this strange.

Potter shifted slightly in the bed, frown on his lips and sweaty curl brushing his forehead. Draco watched him silently. Weasley claimed Potter was cleared of curses, leaving the only possibility that Draco had found so far to be horcruxes. Once Potter awoke, he’d have to ask. He watched a moment longer, and viewed Potter’s eyes flicker open. He allowed Potter a minute to wake up before striding into the room.

“Where am- What happened?” Potter asked, brows furrowed and eyes looking into Draco’s. His eyes were a brilliant green, and Draco caught himself gazing into them momentarily before catching himself answering.

“An accio landed you in Saint Mungo’s. I am assuming that this is the worst reaction that you’ve experienced so far?” Draco went straight to business, and upon seeing Potter’s nod, continued. “I’ve reached several theories. Most of which being curses, which you’ve been cleared of. The only remaining possibility is called a horcrux. Have you heard of them?” Potter stiffened on the bed, averting his eyes. Interesting, Potter clearly held some knowledge on the subject. Draco quirked a brown, “It’s when a dark wizard places a piece of their soul-their magic really- in a host.” Potter nodded.

“So- er, if this were me, theoretically, than it would be Vol- the dark wizard’s magic that’s hurting me?” He said quietly, staring at his hands and clenching his fists. Draco pulled out a folded piece of parchment, his notes on the horcruxes.

“There’s a catch. Horcruxes can only be put into inherently un-magical objects. Charmed objects, cursed objects, sure. But it cannot be magical on its own.” Potter shook his head slightly, and Draco went on, “It’s only a theory. Obviously there are some inconsistencies, you’re a wizard, possibly the most powerful since Merlin himself. If there’s anything that,” He paused a waved his hand through the air, searching for a phrase, “anything that rings a bell, please tell me.” 

“Not here.” Potter said quietly. “Somewhere more private.”

Draco frowned and started to wave Blaise in through the window.

“No, not your office either. My place. I’ve got a flat in muggle London, i’ll give you the address.” Potter searched around for a pen and parchment, and Draco silently passed him one from the pockets of his cloak. “Would tomorrow work for you? Around lunch?” 

Draco nodded, “It would be best to work on this as soon as possible, lunch will be fine. Get some rest, and I’ll be sure to tell the healers you’re to be released soon.” He strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He watched through the window as Potter yawned and lay down, eyes fluttering closed. 

“So do you want some coffee or not? The place sells these things called ‘gift cards,’ and they put money on a small piece of plastic, and you just use that to pay!” Draco nodded vacantly. “I’ve bought seven. I’m thinking of giving one to Pansy, maybe she can take mystery girl there for a date.”

Shitshitshitshit. 

Harry had a stripe of blue paint on his forehead, and orange play- doh clumped in his hair. He’d forgotten that Teddy was staying with him this weekend, and Malfoy would be here any minute. “Teddy, come here!” He called, and Teddy raced up to him, clutching a wolf stuffed animal tightly, his hair turquoise. Harry knelt down to be at eye level. “Alright mate? Your cousin Draco will be visiting in a few, so how about you help me clean up this mess?” Harry gestured to the coloring books, legos, and craft supplies scattered about the flat.

Teddy’s eyes widened. “Draco's coming! Harry, he watches the cooking show! We can play chefs!” Harry laughed a little.

“Me and Draco have to talk first ok, but I'm sure he’ll play with you after. Now let's get cleaning!” Harry reached for a handful of legos, almost picking them up when their was a knock at the door. “Shit- Don't repeat that!” He scooped Teddy up with one arm, and tried to use the back of his hand to scrub at the paint on his forehead. “Just a minute!” His hand came back clean. The paint was dry. He was being visited by his old school enemy and doctor with blue paint on his face and play- doh in his hair. 

He swung the door open. “Healer Malfoy! Right on time…” He sighed. “I forgot I was babysitting today.” Malfoy looked taken aback for a second, eyes lingering on the paint, then the play- doh. He stepped through the doorway, smiling at Teddy.

“Hello Teddy, Potter.” 

“Draco!! Harry said that when you guys are done talking we can all play chefs!” Teddy said delighted.

“Did he?” Draco answered, and Potter winced apologetically. “Well then, we certainly will. We don’t want to make a liar out of your Harry.” Draco watched with amusement as Potter’s cheeks colored.

Potter led him to the kitchen, and sent Teddy of to play with his toys so the two could talk in peace. “Tea?” he asked, gesturing to the kettle on the stove. At Malfoy’s nod, he poured them each a mug and set them on the table. He took a fortifying drink, and began to speak. “You mentioned that horcruxes could be a cause for my magic hating me. I don’t know how you even found out anything about them, but I do have- er, experience in the field.

“I guess you could say that- well, you see- I was one. A horcrux. Voldemort made me by accident the night he killed my parents.” Harry said, clutching his mug tightly. Malfoy’s eyes opened wide, shocked. Harry bit his lip and continued, “Not anymore. He killed it when he killed me, in the forest, with the killing curse.”

Draco pondered it over in his head. He forced his mind to be analytical, to think, and control his feelings of horror. If Voldemort killed Harry, he had killed his own soul. But a horcrux could only be made with an un- magical item, and Potter certainly had magic. His magic was the only reason that they were even having this conversation. 

“Could it be possible that the Dark Lord,” Draco’s arm itched as he said the name, “Could have destroyed the soul but not the magic. The magic hurting you could belong to him, not you. But that would mean that you had no magic to begin with. That you’re a squib.” 

Harry swallowed heavily on the last word. He loved magic, he loved Hogwarts and Diagon Alley, he loved Quidditch and spells. There was no way that after being raised as a lesser being due to his magic that he wasn’t even meant to have it.

“If this is the case, we’ll have to begin treatment. Fiendfyre, goblin- wrought silver, and basilisk venom. If we decide to take action, I don’t even know how we could get any of these in a safe, contained way. One that leaves you alive.”

“There’s a basilisk skeleton in Hogwarts. From when we were second years.” Harry said slowly. “We could use one of its fangs.” 

“There’s a basilisk carcass? And you didn’t tell anyone? Potter, those are incredibly valuable and you left it to rot?” Draco was halfway between horrified and amused. Potter blushed again. And Draco wondered just how many times Potter would blush in his presence, and why. “Alright then, if we can get the fangs, we could dilute it and start you on a regimen of potions. Hopefully diluted venom will be able to end the Horcrux without harming you.” 

Potter nodded and got up. “Ok, let's do it. I’ll talk to Mcgonagall and see when we can retrieve the carcass. But it’s time to play chefs with Teddy.” He lead the way to the den. Draco followed closely behind.

 

Teddy very much enjoyed playing chefs, although he didn’t understand why Harry and Draco called each other Potter and Malfoy. And he didn’t know why their faces turned red when he said they should just use first names. He also didn’t understand the long glances they would give each other when the other wasn’t looking.

Teddy did, however, understand how to play chefs. And he was winning


End file.
